


Passing Fancy

by Muccamukk



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Aftercare, Beach Holidays, Canon Era, Crossdressing, Episode: s01e03 Carentan, Established Relationship, Feminization, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Spanking, Teasing, Without the Beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: All Buck wanted to do was spend a quiet weekend in bed with Don. Now, what feels like half of first platoon is along on their private vacation, Don is wearing a dress, and Buck is increasingly convinced he's not going to get laid at all.
Relationships: Lynn "Buck" Compton/Donald Malarkey, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: Band of Brothers Love Fest 2021





	Passing Fancy

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Diablo_donnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diablo_donnie/pseuds/Diablo_donnie) in the [BandofBrothersLoveFest_2021](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BandofBrothersLoveFest_2021) collection. 



Buck's original plan had been to find somewhere quiet away from Aldbourne and spend an entire weekend pass enthusiastically screwing Don's brains out in an attempt to remind themselves that they were still alive. Buck had been very fond of the original plan, and had spent the entire train trip down to Brighton staring out the window and mourning the fact that Don hadn't been able to keep his goddamn trap shut.

The problem was that neither of them could outright say that the purpose of the trip had been to see how many homosexual encounters two men could fit into a forty-eight hour period, and so there'd been no legitimate reason to tell the rest of their buddies they were third, fourth, fifth and sixth wheels. Which was how Buck was going to spend two days sharing a cottage with a couple NCOs and a mortar squad, and probably not getting laid at all.

Because Bill Guarnere was involved, they picked up a handful of women before they were even off the train, and ended up in needing a larger cottage than Buck had originally pre-arranged. Even then, it was more crowded, and more raucous, and fortunately more full of alcohol than Buck had planned.

Hours later, Buck caught a glimpse of Don's face across the packed sitting room, and they grimaced at each other. Buck raised his glass, and Don knocked back his drink and poured another.

By 2200, they were all too shitfaced to play cards, and had started making bets on whatever struck the group's fancy, with increasingly outlandish terms. Buck was drifting in a whiskey-numbed haze, watching from the outskirts at that point, laughing when the others did. He had to admit that this part was nice: watching Don and Skip lean into each other's shoulders, like a pair of battered books on a shelf, while Alex smoked and teased the girl leaning on his and Toye's shoulders. Guarnere had a woman in some kind of British army uniform sitting in his lap, even though she had to be taller than he was by at least a couple inches, and not a lot narrower across the shoulders. She was saying something, and Buck's soused brain had to struggle to make sense of her accent, one of those upper crust English things precise enough to cut steel.

"But if _I_ win," she said, attempting to waggle her finger at Don, but in fact swaying her whole arm. Bill caught her with an arm around her ribs before she pitched forward off his lap. Buck noticed his thumb tracing the outline of her breast, and noticed her not seem to mind one bit. "But if I win," she persisted, "I get to wear your uniform for a day."

Everyone laughed, except for Don, who just asked in a bewildered voice, "But what am I going to wear?"

"My uniform, of course," the woman said, to more laughter.

Skip slapped Don on the back and said he'd better not lose then, and they started up some kind of drinking game that Buck couldn't follow. He drifted again, thinking of that frog apple brandy mingling with the taste of his own blood, the sting of it in his mouth, how it'd been better to focus on the pain of the moment, not...

A roar of laughter pulled Buck back into the moment. The woman in Bill's laps had both hands in the air like a boxing champion. Bill had one hand holding her wrist up, and the other cupping one of her breasts outright. Don was laughing so hard his face was nearly purple, doubled over with Skip pounding his back and the table alike.

Buck smiled lazily and said, "Guess you'll be seeing how the ladies do it tomorrow," but the noise of the group buried his words. One of the other girls was kissing Alex and Joe, one then the other, while the third girl draped half over her back. If Buck stayed much longer, he was going to see some conduct truly unbecoming of everyone involved, and he probably _still_ wasn't going to get to screw Don. He pushed himself to his feet, spent a moment gently swaying, then started making his way towards the door. Buck's rank had snagged him a semi-detached suite in the yard, which might not have its own toilet, but at least had thick enough stone walls that he wasn't going to have to hear the forthcoming orgy.

A chorus of calls tried to entice Buck to stay, but he waved them off and kept going. He made it as far as his bunk before needing to cling to the edge of the mattress and wait for the world to stop spinning and the nausea to fade. He didn't remember much after that.

* * *

The mood the following morning was considerably more subdued. Joe Toye—who could pack away booze like four men his size—got up first and started making coffee and boiling oatmeal, thrusting both at everyone as they came in. Buck slumped into the same armchair he'd had the night before and clutched the coffee, considering if the army would make an exception to their fraternisation policies and let him marry Joe. Buck suggested as much aloud, and Joe told him to take a number.

Two of the women from the night before didn't seem to have stayed, but the tall one who'd been in Bill's lap came out wearing not only his shirt but his shorts as well, her sandy blonde hair down around her shoulders. She took two mugs of coffee and retreated to Bill's room, her glare daring any of them to comment.

"So where'd you sleep?" Buck asked when she was gone. Joe had been sharing a room with Bill.

Joe shrugged. "Couch. Slept on worse."

Buck glanced at the couch which had to be a foot and a half too short for a man of Joe's height. It did look a lot better than a half-drowned foxhole.

"Anyone seen Malarkey alive this morning?" Alex asked.

They all looked around as if Don might be hiding in a dark corner somewhere, or possibly on the ceiling, and collectively shrugged. "Guess I ain't," Joe admitted. "Bill neither, but I know what _he's_ doing."

It was what Buck should have been doing right now, if they hadn't picked up this travelling circus on the way out of Aldbourne. They could be lying somewhere private right now, Don snuggled up against Buck's chest, maybe even with Buck's cock still inside him. It was meant to have been their first chance to be together since those rushed nights just before D-Day, when they'd both worked out they wanted the same thing. It was meant to have been a honeymoon of sorts.

Buck started to shake his head, but the hangover put a stop to that, and he slumped further down into the chair and clung to his mug.

Don stomped out not long after in shorts and a white underskirt that was damp enough with sweat that it clung to the contours of his chest. Buck noticed he was staring at the muscles of Don's arms, and made himself focus on the light coming through the sitting room window. Don knocked back the coffee like it was whiskey and stomped into the shower before anyone else realised they should have beaten him to it.

"Dammit," Skip muttered and Alex nodded in agreement. Buck closed his eyes.

He must have drifted off, coffee or not, because when he opened them, Bill and his girl were out drinking coffee, and Don was towelling the water out of his hair.

"Say," Bill was saying, "Ain't you two meant to be wearing something different?"

Buck struggled back through the blurry memories of the night before until he caught on the right bet.

"Drat," the girl muttered, and Don snorted into his coffee, the sound of resigned good humour.

Bill got up, pulling the woman with him, and grabbed Don by the back of the neck like a kitten. "Come on, this I gotta see," he said.

Don detoured into the room he was sharing with Skip and Alex, coming out with his service uniform and boots bundled in his arms, then the door to Bill's room shut, and the sound of Joe's rumbling laugh obscured whatever sounds might have come from inside then, though Buck would swear he heard a giggle.

Bill got ejected a moment later, looking both disgruntled and pleased with himself, and after that none of them could hear a sound of what was going on in there. Bill vanished into the shower, and even with how much time he spent on his hair every morning, he was still out before either Don or the girl.

"Hey, Bill," Joe called across from the kitchen, "What's that skirt called again?"

"Audrey. Subaltern Miller. That's like a lieutenant to youse," Bill said, pronouncing the rank with an F like the English did. He seemed to be entirely too pleased with himself to have netted an officer, but Buck was just glad Joe had asked. He vaguely remembered a Marion, but that must have been one of the other two girls.

"Or," Audrey said, as she came out of the room, "Sergeant Miller of the 101st Airborne Division."

Everyone turned and Joe poked his head out from the kitchen to stare. Audrey was dressed in Don's uniform: boots to garrison cap. It was even a reasonable fit on her, though her chest strained against the front of the jacket, and the shoulders were a bit loose. She wasn't wearing any make up, but still wouldn't pass for a man, her wavy hair pinned back or not, but the softness of her features just made a sharper contrast to an enlisted man's boxy service uniform. She looked sharp, out of place, and like something that made Buck more interested in women than he had been in a long time.

Bill whistled and went over to kiss her. Audrey slapped his hands away before he could disarrange her hair, and he pulled her in by her waist. That pinched the jacket in enough to show off Audrey's hips, but seeing Bill in his shirtsleeves kissing someone in the same uniform sent a twinge through Buck's gut, something halfway between panic and desire.

"Jesus," Alex said, "you might have to sign me up for one of those blue tickets, if troopers are going to start looking like that."

"Hands to yourself," Bill said, breaking the kiss. He and Audrey had their arms around each other's waists and looked like two buddies on their way back to the barracks after a night out.

"What happened to Malark?" Joe asked, and Audrey shrugged.

"A spot of trouble with his suspenders," she said. "He'll be out in a tick."

Buck didn't remember the women's army uniform coming with suspenders, but the night before had been a bit of a blur. He thought she'd taken her jacket off at one point through.

"Think he needs help?" Skip asked, barely suppressing a snigger.

"No, he..." Audrey started to say, but then the bedroom door opened again, and Don came out.

Buck got to his feet without even knowing what he was doing, like he would if a proper lady was coming in. He heard Skip wolf whistling and a cat call from Joe. Guarnere said, "Hei bella gnocca!" with enough enthusiasm that Audrey slapped his ass, but all those sounds passed by Buck's head like the ringing that followed a concussion grenade.

There weren't a lot of differences between a paratrooper's service uniform and that of the Auxiliary Territorial Service. The colour was khaki rather than olive drab, and it had a different hat, but one could almost mistake the two at a distance. Almost. Though the ATS jacket also had boxy shoulders and too many pockets for clean lines, a belted waist nipped it in. That pinch followed by the slight flare of the jacket gave an impression of wider hips, contrasted again by a straight skirt that ended just below the knees. Don's legs were bare, his feet jammed into a pair of polished brown Oxfords that had just enough heel to make him wobble a bit as he walked further into the room.

Buck couldn't stop staring. It wasn't much of a difference, but somehow it was every difference at the same time.

A considerable silence stretched, long enough to make Don fold his arms over his chest, which strained the seams at the shoulders. He was scowling like a wet hen, but that didn't make a damn bit of difference to the part of Buck's brain that was telling him things about what he could do to Don in that skirt. None of which, if this day followed the last, he was going to get to try.

"Ma'd bend you over her knee for going out with bare legs," Joe finally said.

That description didn't do anything for Buck's peace of mind either, but it started an argument between Audrey and Don about how she wasn't going to lend her stockings, as she only had two pairs, and wasn't about to let him ruin one of them.

"Fine, Jesus," Bill said, and pulled a pair of new silk stockings out of his back pocket. Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged and threw them at Don. They didn't fly well, fluttering to the floor in the middle of the room.

"You're a pal," Don grumbled and swayed over to get them. Even the low heels did things to his legs that Buck couldn't quite explain. They were longer, somehow, and not just from the few inches of height, and the shoes forced him into shorter, hip-swaying steps. Buck wanted to take Don into his arms and dance around the room, or would if he didn't remember what a poor dancer Don was. Maybe he just wanted to take him in his arms and sway. Don bent over to pick up the stockings, instead of dropping into a crouch like a girl would, and the skirt rode half way up his thighs.

Buck really needed to stop staring and think of something funny to say.

Don picked up the stockings, holding them by the toes so that the expanse of silk draped halfway to the floor. He was looking at them like he had never seen socks before, and had no idea how they might go on.

Which was, of course, when Buck's brain supplied something to say: "Hey, I'll help you get those on."

"Thanks," Don said, mind apparently on technical difficulties around stockings, and not, until he got over to Buck, on what they were about to do.

Buck slumped down in his chair, committed to whatever the hell this was: torturing himself, mostly, he thought.

Don grimaced down at him, as if he too had just worked out that this was going to start up something he couldn't finish with half the platoon there. Then he shrugged and toed off his right shoe. He put the ball of his foot on the edge of the chair right between Buck's legs. It was rough and calloused from living in jump boots for years, and didn't look at all delicate like a lady's should be. Buck took one of the stockings from Don's hand, and scrunched it up around the tip, and slid it over Don's toes. The trace of his knuckles over the arch of Don's foot made Don surprise a giggle. Buck had always wanted to pin him down and tickle the hell out of him, but had never gotten the chance. Now, he smoothed the silk up Don's foot, gripping his ankle to lift it up, and checking to make sure the heel was set right and the seam would be straight. When Don rested his foot back between Buck's legs, his toes were closer to Buck's crotch than they'd been before, and Buck had to focus on the slide of silk up Don's hairy leg, and not thinking about how that stockinged foot would feel against his dick. He moved his hands over Don's calf and up to the ropey muscles of his thigh. They'd all been lean enough before Normandy, but a month and the field had slimmed them all down to muscle and bone. Buck had wanted to take Don away and look after him for a few days, make sure he got good chow and could goddamn relax for once. At least they were doing that part, even if the other part of the plan had fallen away.

Now with his arms buried under Don's skirt, his hands circling Don's upper thigh, Buck realised that he probably should fasten the stockings up somehow. "You wearing garters?" he asked, and found himself flushing at just the thought.

"Yeah," Don said softly, like it was an admission of guilt. "Here, you just gotta—" he hiked his skirt up out of the way, bunching it up until Buck got a flash of underwear that absolutely was not olive drab shorts.

Buck looked away sharply, and almost missed seeing the ends of the garters. He quickly clipped the stocking onto them, and pulled his hands away, before remembering that he had the whole other leg to do. He watched as Don stepped back into his shoe, letting the skirt fall into place and swish against his legs. Buck took the other stocking and bunched it up like he had the first one, but handed it back instead of putting it on for Don.

As though he were just using a convenient balance point, Don pushed his toe into the stocking, then planted his foot squarely between Buck's spread legs, the tip of his toes just brushing the wool of Buck's trousers, so close that he had to be able to feel that Buck was already working on a hard on. Don looked Buck right in the eye before sweeping the silk up his leg and pulling the skirt back to clip the garters on. That time, Buck got a very good look at the white cotton panties Don was wearing, and the way his cock and balls filled them out.

Buck closed his eyes. If Don was going to be a tease, he didn't know how he was going to get through this day with any shred of his sanity intact, not when he wanted to grab Don by the hips and suck him off through his underwear, his head buried under the khaki skirt. He waited until he heard the swish of wool against silk as the skirt dropped, and then until the chair shifted as Don stepped back, and only then opened his eyes. He still got too good a look at the stretch of fabric over Don's ass as he bent to fix his shoe, but Buck told himself he could cope with that.

That lasted until Don fucking winked at him, and Buck sighed and cursed the Irish and their sense of humour.

"I don't know how you two plan to go out like that," Buck said sourly. Even on a weekend in a holiday down that was probably jammed with servicemen and women, they wouldn't get away with crossdressing outside of an entertainment review. Buck's brain might be telling him all kinds of things about how good Don looked, but even if he put on some makeup, he wouldn't fool anyone at close range.

"Who says we're going out?" Bill asked, arm still around Audrey's waist, hand lower than it had been last time Buck had looked. Audrey didn't look like she was going to keep up her end of wearing the uniform all day for very long.

"Well I ain't staying here and listening to you two screw around all day," Joe said to a chorus of agreement from Alex and Skip. Buck thought wistfully of the original plan, or of finding a beach secluded enough that he could walk down it holding Don's hand. From a distance they'd look like a normal couple, and Buck liked the idea of people seeing Don and thinking of him as Buck's girl. Getting him to the beach in the first place didn't seem likely though.

"Was actually thinking I'd like to stay in and read," Don said, though he glanced at Bill and added, "Hey, Lieutenant, maybe I could borrow your rack, huh?"

"We ain't that loud!" Bill protested, and was immediately contradicted by everyone who'd shared the main house the night before.

"Dear heart, we are entirely that loud," Audrey said with more than a touch of smugness. Bill waved to concede the point, just as satisfied with himself.

Buck couldn't think of any way to go "quietly read" with Don that had any kind of cover, and definitely wasn't staying for the Bill and Audrey Show, so found himself going for a walk with Joe, Skip and Alex.

It turned out that any fantasies of actually walking on the beach, let alone going swimming, ran head first into the reality of a town braced for invasion. The famous sands of Brighton were covered with barbed wire and landmines, while bored Tommies manned sandbagged gun emplacements. Most of the shops that had formerly lined the promenade were likewise sandbagged and boarded up, leaving not a hell of a lot to do. No wonder they'd gotten a good deal on the cottage rental.

Buck could sense the static charge of energy building in all four of them like lightening in a dark sky. He'd been feeling it since Normandy, ebbing and flowing until now it felt impossible to just relax and enjoy the blue sea and sky and the call of the birds. They were safe here, back in England, but even if Buck's mind knew that, his body didn't seem to, nerves still alert and straining for any sign of danger. Buck knew that drinking or fighting or fucking, preferably all three in short order, would drive that feeling away for at least a few hours, but he didn't know what to do about permanently putting it to bed. That was likely a problem for after the war, anyway.

Alex and Skip ended up racing each other from one end of the promenade to the other, like children given too much ice cream, while Buck and Joe walked side by side and tried to work out if there was anything to do in this place that wasn't beer and skittles. If they'd wanted to laze about and booze it up, they could have just stayed in Aldbourne.

"Could go to the movies," Joe said, without much enthusiasm. Most of the films on the marquee had been chin-up limey propaganda pieces, which weren't much better than their American brethren. Buck had an idea of this place as bustling with life and fun, but that was another time, before the blitz, and before the beaches had been lined with barbed wire and ack-acks.

There wasn't much here now besides locals who were keeping their heads down and hoping nothing happened. It was why, Buck thought grimly, it'd been the perfect place for his original plan.

They got lunch in one of the pubs, taking out food and more beer for the others, but it wasn't the quality of chow even the Aldbourne mess served. Bill had cooked something better the night before with "liberated" mess supplies.

When they got back, Bill and Audrey seemed to have at least temporarily worn themselves out. Bill was sitting on the couch darning socks, while Audrey lay on her back with her head in his lap, holding a copy of Yank! in one hand and gesturing with a cigarette with the other as she read it aloud in a dramatic tone and a genuinely awful American accent. She'd lost the uniform jacket somewhere and was in her shirt sleeves with her blouse unbuttoned far enough to show that she'd kept her bra if not her panties, suspenders straining over her breasts.

Don was sitting in the chair Buck had lately abandoned, holding his novel between loosely but mostly listening to Audrey's narration and laughing so hard he flushed bright pink. He'd lost his cap, and also unbuttoned his blouse enough to show a swath of hairy chest, The way he'd crossed his legs made his skirt ride so far up his thighs that Buck could see the ends of his garters. The sight of them seemed to go straight to his dick, and he turned away to help Joe put the food away.

That just made Don get up to see if he could help, his solid heels clunking and his hips swishing as he walked. Buck was pretty sure that having heels that low didn't make a man's hips waggle like that, and that Don was trying something on just to drive Buck completely around the bend.

This time, there was no escape. This time, they all sat in the cottage's backyard and watched Don ruin his stockings as he rough housed with Audrey, Skip and Alex in an invented form of touch football. Skip called for Buck to show them how it was done, but Buck claimed a hangover he no longer really had. The concept of grappling with Don in full view of everyone was too much. Don picked himself up off the ground and stretched, arching his back and showing off all the ways his body could bend. Buck was glad he had that issue of Yank! in his lap.

Don kept wearing his torn and muddy stockings the rest of the day, even though he had to know from the way his legs drew Buck's eyes that wearing silk with holes in it was somehow ten times as alluring as going bare legged.

As the afternoon progressed to evening, they drank more, and more buttons came undone. Audrey ended up back in Bill's lap, and Buck kept getting sideways looks at her, and finding his brain persisted in coming to the wrong conclusion. It could almost be the kind of place where one uniformed NCO sat in another's lap, and no one cared, but Buck hadn't had the guts to go looking for those kinds of places over here. It was too risky anyway. Even Don strutting around in torn stockings like the kind of girl they usually called easy was pushing at the edges of what was safe, especially given the truth of what they did together. Especially given how far out of his way Don was going to flirt shamelessly with Buck.

Bill cooked again, making it an early dinner, and they all settled in to play cards, after. Don spun his chair around and sat astride it, his skirt riding half way up his thighs. He leaned both arms on the back, a picture of casual sloth with a beer in one hand, cards in the other, and a smoke dangling from his lips. Buck couldn't look at him without imagining that it was Buck's lap Don was straddling, and maybe that the skirt was out of the way entirely.

Buck lost four hands in a row before tossing his latest bunk cards on the table and saying, "I'm calling it an early night."

"Aw, come on, Lieutenant," Bill complained, "we're just getting started."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Buck told him with a grin that was only partly for show. "But don't let me slow you guys down."

He batted the side of Don's head for emphasis, then couldn't help letting his hand linger as he squeezed the back of Don's neck. That was all Buck allowed himself though. He carried a load of empty beer bottles into the kitchen, and then headed out to his quiet little suite. The suite where Don had spent most of the afternoon lounging in a dress. He hadn't even remade Buck's bed, not if the rumpled blanket was anything to go by. Buck looked at it and pictured Don lying on his stomach with a book on the pillow, his stockinged legs kicked up behind him and crossed at the ankles. Maybe he'd have shifted from time to time, rubbing his dick against the front of his skirt, thinking about Buck coming in and finding him there.

Buck of course hadn't come in, and now it was probably too late. Buck pulled his boots off and only just resisted hurling one at the far wall with enough force to do some real damage. If he'd stayed in that damned cottage for another drink, he probably would be breaking things by now. As it was, Buck was drunk enough to admit that he was angry, but not so far gone that he'd do anything about it. He ran a hand through his hair, his buzz cut tickling his palm, and turned in a circle. If he'd brought anything resembling PT gear, he'd just go out and run this off, but that wasn't an option here. It was either stay in this little room by himself, or go back into the cottage and watch the slow slide into a debauchery in which he wasn't going to get to partake. Buck took off his jacket and whipped into the floor with as much force as he could manage, then sighed and picked it up, smoothing away the wrinkles and hanging it up properly.

It wasn't right to whine and throw tantrums when he'd been so goddamned lucky. He'd made it through the whole campaign without a scratch, and the men he'd loved best had made it through all right too. He was on a beach vacation, though admittedly one without the beach. All his friends were here, and healthy, and mostly happy. What the hell did it matter if Buck wasn't getting laid?

Sighing again, Buck stripped down to his shorts, brushed his teeth, and slid into bed. He tried to force his mind away from the image of Don lying there just a few hours before, and when that didn't work, decided he might as well just jerk off and get it over with.

He'd pushed the covers back and gotten his dick out of his shorts when someone knocked on the door.

"Fuck," Buck muttered. He was barely hard, and just tucked back in, pulled the sheets up, and hoped for the best. Yelling for whoever it was to come in.

It was Don, still in that damned ATS uniform, stockings still torn at one knee, blouse halfway unbuttoned and cap gone. His auburn hair stood up at all angles like he'd run his hand through it too many times, and his stubble had grown into what would have been a two-day beard on Buck. Don shut the door behind him, and stood with his hands on his hips looking down at Buck. "Hey," he said, voice soft and exhausted.

Buck pushed himself up on his elbows. "Hey back," he said, and tried to smile, but suddenly he felt tired too.

"Don't think they noticed me leaving," Don said.

"I don't think I care anymore." Buck started to get up, pushing the covers back and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, but before he could stand, Don crossed the space between them and dropped onto his lap. It didn't quite work: Don had to kneel on either side of Buck's hips, and he was too tall, and there wasn't really enough room, but his arms around Buck's neck held them steady enough to kiss.

As their lips touched, Buck felt a spark run through him. It was the kind of spark he'd only known when he was with another guy, and which seemed to resonate more deeply when he was with Don in particular. Not that he'd ever gotten to do much to Don that couldn't be done standing up and in a hurry. This was Buck's first chance to really chase that feeling down, so he took Don's face in his hands and kissed him for all he was worth. Don groaned and tried to wiggle forward so that their bodies pressed more tightly together. He was an enthusiastic kisser who poured his whole soul into it when Don was kissing him, Buck never for a moment doubted that he had Don's full attention, not with the way his lips lingered on Buck's, or the way he couldn't keep in little whimpers of pleasure as Buck slipped his tongue into Don's mouth.

Buck let go of Don's face and started trying to feel out the belt of his jacket, but Don caught his hands and held them tight. "Wanna do it in this," he mumbled, lips still brushing Buck's. "Been waiting for it all day."

"You've been a goddamn tease," Buck grumbled. He pulled his hands away from Don's, but instead of undoing his borrowed uniform reached down and ran his hands up and down Don's thighs. He pushed the skirt up and out of the way and snapped one of the garters against Don's thigh.

It can't really have hurt, but Don sucked in a breath and caught his lower lip between his teeth, looking down at Buck. His brown eyes were dark, and he rocked forward enough for Buck to feel how hard he was.

"You're right," Don said, "I'm a goddamn tease, ruined my stockings, and just haven't been acting like an officer and a subaltern and... and a lady, and you should do something about it."

It all came out in a rush, and though his breath certainly reeked of beer, Buck didn't think Don was drunk so much as desperate. Almost as desperate as Buck was.

"That what you want?" Buck snapped the garter again, a little harder this time. "You want me to do something about you being a tease?"

"I want you to do a whole lot of things about it."

They didn't have to say anything else, Don just twisted around until he was lying across Buck's lap, his head pillowed on his arms on one side, gleaming brown Oxfords on the other. The skirt had fallen back into place, covering Don's ass and thighs down past the tops of his stockings. Buck put his hand on Don's ass and squeezed lightly. He could feel Don's cock pressing between his legs almost as keenly as he could feel his own rubbing against the side of Don's hip. Don was trembling under Buck's hand, but Buck thought it was anticipation, not fear. They'd never done this, never done anything like this, but Buck could taste how much Don wanted it. He thought, looking back, that he could taste it all along: how Don wanted to curl up into Buck's possessiveness and be another prize to be won then claimed.

Buck pushed the skirt up as far as it would go. The stiff wool bunched and had to be folded to stay properly, but eventually Buck had Don's panties under his hand, and the edge of the garter belt visible. The garters cut dark lines down the centres of his thighs, giving Don a few inches of bare skin between his underwear and the tops of the stockings. Buck pushed the panties down until they tangled on the connection between garters and stockings. It was enough room to leave Don bare assed across Buck's lap. Buck ran his hand possessively across Don's ass. This was all he'd wanted all day, all weekend, for the last month, since they'd jumped into Normandy. All Buck had wanted was a few hours of peace in which to do whatever he damn well pleased to this scrawny ass. He slid his fingers into the crack and found Don's hole, fingering the rim until Don gasped and tensed his shoulders.

"So you're a tease who ruined your stockings, are you?" Buck asked. He lifted his hand off Don's ass, but didn't bring it down, not yet.

"I am. I absolutely am," Don said with far more enthusiasm than contrition. "I'm a bad, bad girl." His voice almost caught on the word "girl," but he got it out, not quite stuttering.

"How bad?" Buck asked, wondering how far he could push this, how far he wanted to.

"Very bad. The worst." Don squirmed on Buck's lap, trying to wiggle his as, but mostly just writhing. The way his hip and thigh kept brushing against Buck's dick was not making focusing easy. "Look, I'm teasing you again."

"Goddammit," Buck muttered, but Don's pale bare ass was right there, and he wanted this so bad he was aching for it, nearly begging for it. "All right, you got it."

Buck brought his hand down with a fraction of his strength, more a tap than a proper slap across the ass, and Don groaned.

"Come _on_ ," Don protested. "I spent all day being so bad. I jerked off in your bed when you were down at the beach."

"Good thing one of us was getting off," Buck muttered. He kneaded the muscles of Don's ass for a moment, then lifted his hand again.

This time he brought it down for a proper smack, hard enough that he could feel the heat of it in his palm, and Don jolted under the contact, whimpering slightly. His cock wasn't getting any softer though, and from the way he was twitching his hips, almost humping Buck's lap, the pain wasn't turning him off. When Buck raised his hand again, he could see the pink imprint of it across Don's ass, each splayed finger outlined in a sharper white, the dark line of the garter running through the middle of it. The mark flushed darker as Buck watched, and when he touched Don's ass, he could feel the skin was already warmer. Don twitched when Buck's cool fingertips brushed over him, sucking in a sharper breath than he had when Buck had hit him.

"Gonna give you one of these for every time today I wanted to fuck you," Buck told Don, who moaned low in his throat, almost growling in anticipation, and rubbed his hips against Buck's legs. Buck decided the first one was for when Don had first come out of the bedroom, and gave Don another for each one of those damned stockings, for each time Don had bent over, or wiggled his hips, or made sure Buck was watching before he stretched to show off his body. Every time he thought of a time Don had flirted, it only reminded Buck of another, and another.

Buck could feel each impact ring from his palm down through Don's ass until it ground Don's dick into Buck's lap. They were both hard, Don's cock nestled between Buck's parted thighs—still encased in the panties and pressing against the skirt—and Buck's rubbing through his shorts against Don's hip, and each slap only enhanced the contact and made Buck want more. He was starting to sweat, but Don was breathing hard and whimpering, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to hold himself together. With only the narrow strip of his ass between the hem of the skirt and the top of the stockings, Buck was placing one blow atop of another until Don's skin glowed like the element of a stove, and felt about as hot.

"Please, Buck, come on," Don whined as Buck stroked his palm over his skin. Buck kept his touch light, but it still had to hurt. Don wasn't going to be able to sit down without remembering this, probably for at least a week. A deep well of tenderness replaced Buck's previous frustration, and when Don begged again, Buck asked, "What do you need, Donny?"

"I don't know!" Don snapped, but when Buck nudged his legs apart and touched Don's hole, he amended to, "Yeah, that, please."

"There's slick in the drawer," Buck said, and Don stretched for the bedside table. It rocked his body across Buck's lap again, stretching his thighs out so the muscles flexed under the stockings and pulled the garters tight across his bright red ass. Buck closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think of the mud and blood of Normandy, of frigid rain dripping off his helmet and down the back of his neck, of anything that would keep him from coming then and there and not buried in Don's ass.

Don passed him back the tube of shaving gel, and Buck squirted some across Don's ass, making him jump at the contrast in temperature. When Buck pushed a finger into Don's ass, he found he was already a little slick, and his body gave way easily.

"Did you screw yourself when you jerked off?" Buck asked. He'd been picturing Don lying on his back with his skirt pushed up, leisurely pulling himself over the edge, but now he thought of him on his knees, hips jerking back and forth between the hand on his cock and the fingers up his ass. Or maybe he had been on his back, with his legs spread high and wide enough to make room for both hands. "Did you think of me?" Buck asked, and Don nodded.

Don didn't say anything, but let out a long, high whine as Buck fingered him open. Buck wanted to take it slow, to finger fuck Don until he came just from that, but he didn't think he could take much more of Don squirming and whimpering in his lap.

"You been thinking of me doing this all day?" Buck pressed him. He had three fingers inside Don already, just a little rough in the way he thrust them in and out. Before Don could answer, Buck twisted his hand and rolled his knuckles over Don's prostate.

"Jesus!" Don yelped, and jerked his hips against Buck's lap. His cock was straining, and Buck could feel his whole body shake as he tried to keep from coming.

Buck was relentless, twisting and thrusting with one hand and keeping the other spread over the small of Don's back to hold him in place. Don had taken a double handful of the blankets, and was gripping them hard even as his feet swung in the air like he could run away from the contact.

"Please, Buck, buddy, I wanna wait for you," Don finally gasped out. "Don't. Not yet."

"Shhh," Buck said, but he pulled his hand out and let Don be. He liked that Don wanted to come with Buck inside him, anyway, and liked more that he was begging, but still giving Buck the choice. He slapped Don's ass lightly, the slick on his fingers making the sound louder. "Crawl onto the bed for me, huh?"

Don took two long, shuddering breaths before he got himself together enough to drag his body forward off Buck's lap and onto the bed properly. He hauled himself on his elbows like he was crawling under barbed wire, but the edge of the bed and the panties wrapped around his thighs hobbled his movements. Buck kept a hand on Don's hip to keep him from tumbling onto the floor, but waited for him to get up to the top of the bed. Don knelt in front of it with his legs as wide as they'd go with the underwear binding his thighs, and held onto the headboard. The skirt had fallen back down to cover him, but his spread legs pulled the fabric taut across his ass. Buck went to kneel behind Don and dragged his hand down Don's spine and over his ass, cupping as he went, and Don jumped and flinched under his touch. The skirt wasn't lined, and the wool must be biting into his tender skin like sandpaper.

Buck flipped the skirt up, pushing it up along Don's back so it'd stay out of the way, and paused for a moment to take in the sight in front of him. Don had arched his back in so that his ass stuck out as far as it could for Buck, and clung to the headboard with face buried in folded arms. His ass blazed with heat and trembled with anticipation, while the panties had finally fallen away from his cock, letting it jut out hard in front of him. Buck thought about pulling the panties back into place, and then aside enough that he could screw Don while he was wearing them, but decided he liked it better with Don's legs trapped and tangled in them. Buck took his own shorts and socks off, liking the powerful feeling of his nakedness and strength. He felt like Alexander or Achilles, and Don was his prize.

"Jesus, look at you," Buck said. He moved forward until he could blanket Don with his body, and wrap his arms around Don's ribs and hold him close. "You've been such a good girl."

Don's breath hitched, shaking both their bodies, and he shook his head slightly. "No, I..." but Buck didn't let him finish.

"Shhh," he said, and kissed the scrap of skin above Don's collar, tasting salt. "Let me look after you. You've earned it."

Whatever Don said in reply was too muffled to make out with his face pressed against his arms. It didn't sound like any kind of dissent, so Buck kept kissing Don's neck and the side of his face. He nibbled at the tip of Don's ear even as he slicked up his own cock.

Don's ass gave way for Buck's cock just as easily as for his fingers, but Don still whined and panted as if it was too much. Buck entered him with shallow rocking thrusts, chewing the inside of his cheek to maintain control and keep himself from just fucking Don senseless. He really had been very good, and he deserved every ounce of care and consideration Buck could give him.

Buck had wanted to spend the whole weekend slowly taking Don apart until they could both forget who they were, but if he only had one evening to prove that he was worth choosing, Buck was going to give it his all.

Don's ass felt too warm against Buck's hips when he was finally settled inside him. He felt as much as heard Don suck in a breath at the pain of Buck pressing against his ass. To distract him, Buck groped through his blouse until he found Don's pectoral muscles and cupped his hand around it as if it were a breast, roughly rubbing his thumb back and forth across Don's nipple.

"Who's my pretty girl?" Buck asked, and smiled against Don's neck when the only answer he got was a choked moan and Don shoving his ass back against Buck, as if he could possibly get more of him inside. "You like this, don't you?"

"Yeah," Don mumbled, like his body wasn't telling Buck all he needed to know. Buck could feel the speed of Don's pounding heart under his hand, just as well as he could hear the pleading note in his whimpers, and feel the way Don's ass alternated between shoving back to get more and clenching down on Buck's cock. Even after all Buck had dished out, Don still needed more. Buck remembered Don's plea that he didn't want things to be over too soon and kept it slow as he drew their bodies apart.

He could feel the Don relax a little more under him with each drive of Buck's cock into his ass, like it was a reassurance even against the building need to come. Buck held his chest against Don's back, and kept his hand over Don's heart, needing to reassure him that Buck was there, even as it became too difficult to speak. He tried to pour all of the protective, claiming heat that filled him into the motions of his body, and hoped that Don understood how much it meant to Buck that they were both here and alive and together.

Buck reached down and found Don's cock, starting to stroke it in a slow countrabeat to his own thrusts, a pace calculated to drag it out and drive Don crazy. He paused for a moment with Don pinned between Buck's hips flush against his ass and Buck's hand stroking his dick, but Don still tried to wriggle between them, begging with his body the way he had with his mouth before. This time, Buck thought Don meant, "yes, now," not "no, wait," and kept touching Don. He sucked the lobe of his ear between his lips and nibbled lightly.

That little pressure of all things seemed to be what did it for Don. He gasped, "Buck, please," then his whole body shuddered, and he came to pieces under Buck's touch.

That last clench of Don's body around his dick almost pulled Buck over too, but he held it together, slowly fucking Don through his orgasm. He wanted to say that he was there, and that he'd always be there, but he thought if he opened his mouth he'd just start screaming, so Buck bit down on Don's earlobe and closed his eyes in effort.

Finally, Don went utterly limp and still in Buck's arms, slumping forward against the headboard so that Buck had to wrap his arm around Don's stomach to hold him up. Don murmured happily each time Buck drove into him, but wasn't responding much past that. Buck kissed the tender skin behind Don's ear and allowed himself to finish in a few swift strokes.

Even as he came, and relief flowed through him, Buck held both their bodies up and kept kissing the side of Don's neck. "That's my good girl," Buck whispered, and Don moaned in assent.

Buck let his forehead rest against the back of Don's neck for a moment, then pulled out. Don was clinging to the headboard so tightly that Buck had to peel his hands free and then guide him down to curl on his side on the far side of the bed from the patch of come.

Don was still mostly dressed, shoes and all, but Buck thought he was fading too fast to do much about that. He certainly was too worn out to stumble back to the room he shared with Skip and Alex.

It wouldn't be so odd, surely if Don escaped the clamour of the main house to bunk down here for a night, and if it was, Buck hoped that the rules of silence surrounding liberties would hold.

Buck kissed Don's check and got up. He did his best to tidy with only a washbasin and cloth, then knelt next to Don and started to peel him out of the borrowed uniform. The shoes were easy enough, but pulling them off showed where they'd rubbed the back of Don's ankles raw, cutting right through the stockings. Buck unclipped the tops of the stockings and peeled them slowly off Don's leg, following it with the panties. Buck dabbed at the raw places on Don's ankles and lightly massaged his feet. He had a pair of clean socks in his barracks bag, and put them on Don, remembering how he complained that his feet got cold. Don murmured a sleepy thanks and snuggled deeper into the mattress.

The garter belt came next, and Buck got the skirt unbuttoned, but getting it off required a little more coordination, or at least cooperation out of Don. After a certain amount of cajoling and squirming, Buck finally got what he'd wanted all along: Don Malarkey naked and in his bed. Buck crawled in next to him. Mindful of Don's sore ass, Buck lay on his back, and pulled Don over until his head was resting on Buck's chest. He stroked Don's sweat-soaked hair and kissed his forehead.

"Thanks," Don murmured and shifted to throw his thigh across Buck's hips and rubbed his cheek against Buck's chest.

Their sweaty skin was tacky, and stuck together, and Buck was lying on the damp spot where he'd tried to clean the sheets, but he couldn't think of anything more perfect than this. The tension had let go, for a little while at least, and Buck could feel himself drifting towards sleep.

"I'm sorry I ruined it," Don said morosely.

"What?" Buck demanded. He lifted his head to try to get a better look at Don's face, but it was pressed against Buck's chest, and obscured save for the edge of his jaw, which was too tense for Buck's liking.

"The pass, our pass," Don clarified. "I'm sorry I opened my yap about it."

"Oh." Buck considered that. He had been pretty pissed, even though intellectually he'd known that Don hadn't meant for Bill et al to come with them. It seemed like he'd made his resentment clear enough to make Don feel guilty. He ran his hand up and down Don's spine, trying to sooth him back into relaxing against him. "Well," he said at last, "if Bill hadn't been here, we wouldn't have met Audrey, you wouldn't have worn that skirt, and I wouldn't have had some of the best sex of my life."

"That's true," Don admitted, but he sighed again, unconsolable. "I just... I wanted something else, you know?

"Yeah, I know," Buck said and kissed Don's hair again, this time leaving his lips pressed to it while he thought about what to say. He wanted Don to know how much he meant to Buck, and how even if Buck was disappointed by how the weekend had gone, it didn't mean he wanted Don any less, but he couldn't get that jumble of conflicting thoughts to take shape in a way that wouldn't sound like he was mad about Bill. Finally, he said, "We'll have time to get another pass."

"Okay," Don said, and wriggled so that he was closer to Buck's side. "I just don't want to go through another deployment without you knowing."

Buck wasn't entirely sure he did know, at least not the nuances of what Don wanted to say. He wasn't able to pin down exactly what he felt either, about Don or about any of it, other than that the fierce joy of being together was something remarkable, and he was terrified of not getting to keep it. He didn't know what he'd do if he managed to fuck this up somehow.

"You don't need to prove anything to me, Donny," Buck said. "I'm already yours."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos totally make my day, and I very much appreciate comments of every length, percentage of emoji, and level of coherency.


End file.
